The holidays ate me alive, digested me, and spat me out. I survived some serious disappointment, and experienced support of family members akin to repairing a fractured china cup with super glue. I think I can still hold water, although I still need to be handled with care.
Why do we let family torture our souls on a level that we would never accept with a friend? And that, my friends, is a rhetorical question! I told my shrink at our last session of 2011, "what doesn't kill me only gives me hemorrhoids." He laughed and told me that that would make a great title for a book. I wish there was Preparation H for the cracks in our psyches. (and I think there is, actually... the "H" stands for Hawaii, which is calling my name. More about that later.)
Seriously, I have never been able to understand those families who can have joyous holidays that seem to be Hallmark Movies of the Week. My family holidays lately would be psycho-zombie thrillers that inspire insomnia and anxiety attacks.
So here I am, relieved that those very days are over-
-so over, that I bid "Good Riddance" to 2011 numerous times on December 31st. (I actually used "stronger words," but I don't want to say which ones here.) I was so stressed and exhausted that evening. For the first time in my adult life, I could not even make it to midnight. Our dear friends, Jeff and Penny lovingly nursed us and made dinner. We shared their bottle of Piper Sonoma, as if it was a healing tonic, and then we bid them adieu and passed out at 10:20pm.
I usually prepare for New Year's. There are rites and rituals of passage from one year to the next that must be done in order to kill and maim the demons from the year passing so as to not bring them forward into the new year. In the past I've written problems down on wooden sticks and burned them in the woodstove. I've held coins for ensured material success. I've eaten herring, black-eyed peas, and various other substances to bring luck, love, good health, and whatever else one could wish for.
And then there are the resolutions. It's all about the resolutions this time of year. Everybody makes them. Work out more. Lose weight. Turn off the (insert name of device here). Donate. Give. Take. Change. Start. Stop.
This year I did not make any resolutions. None. I did not vow to write or paint/draw more. I did not resolve to work out more, ride my bike more, play my guitar more, sleep more, live, love, create, more, better, longer, deeper, faster, wider, higher, around the world, the universe and forward into the future, forever and ever, amen.
This is a year of low resolution. Grainy. Unfocused. You may be able to see it if you squint just a little. This year is going to resolve itself. Reveal itself. Unfold itself.
And I am going to be watching, waiting, feeling, touching, tasting, hearing and loving whatever comes my way.
No pressures. No stress. Just living and breathing. Sharing and experiencing.
No goals, no scores. Just a large playing field waiting to be explored.
I once met a cool, older man in Pendleton, OR. His name was Bud and he carved walking sticks. On those sticks he carved folk wisdom. I bought one of his sticks, and he sent me a second as a gift for my husband. I sent him my books for his daughter, a teacher. My favorite thing he carved was "for a successful marriage, view your mate through a telescope, not a microscope." I think that applies here. So I will leave you, and 2012 with this as my only resolution:
"For a successful new year, view your life through a telescope, not a microscope."
Thank you, Bud.